Vacationing in the Dairy State
by Eve Moon
Summary: Josh/Donna pairing. Donna takes a trip to Wisconsin to visit her oh-so-interesting family, and Josh makes a complete fool of himself. Surprise surprise. The first story in the series 'A Comedy of Errors.'
1. Chapter 1

Title: Vacationing in the Dairy State  
  
Author: Eve Moon [ninlilmoon@yahoo.com]  
  
Disclaimer: I have run out of witty little sayings to  
  
use in place of a disclaimer. They're not mine.  
  
Feedback: Is mother's milk.  
  
Summary: Donna takes a trip home to commune with her  
  
kin, and Josh gets cranky.  
  
Notes: This is just a mental lark and has no redeeming  
  
value whatsoever.  
  
****************  
  
9:00 PM  
  
The West Wing  
  
"This is ridiculous!"  
  
"I understood you the first time you said that,  
  
Joshua." He's completely oblivious.  
  
"This is absurd!"  
  
"Tell me how you really feel," I deadpan.  
  
"Absolutely ridiculous!" Ladies and Gentlemen, the  
  
ranting talents of Mr. Joshua Lyman.  
  
"I get the point."  
  
"I can't believe this."  
  
"Get over it," I snap, hoping to end this conversation  
  
as soon as possible.  
  
"Can he do this? I didn't think he could do this."  
  
"Leo can do whatever he wants. He's our boss."  
  
"I know, I know, but this?"  
  
"You need time off, Josh."  
  
"No, I don't!" Yeah, right.  
  
"Fine, then. *I* need time off. I need a vacation."  
  
"You had a day off just last week."  
  
I shoot him my most condescending glare. "My family  
  
thinks I'm dead. I need to go home for a few days."  
  
"No, absolutely not. You're not leaving D.C." He slams  
  
his fist down on his desk. Like that's supposed to  
  
scare me or something.  
  
"Leo is giving us a week's vacation time, Josh. I am  
  
going to Wisconsin and there is nothing you can do  
  
about it."  
  
"What if I need you?"  
  
"You won't be working either. Leo's giving the Secret  
  
Service instructions to physically remove you from the  
  
premises if you try to come into the office."  
  
"That ridiculous!"  
  
"It's a only week, Josh! The country will not fall to  
  
pieces if you take a week off."  
  
"You don't know that," he mumbles sulkily. He looks up  
  
at me. "And what exactly am I supposed to do while I'm  
  
not working?"  
  
I laugh and sit in the chair in front of his desk.  
  
"Let me explain it to you slowly. Sometimes, when  
  
normal people have free time, they do things *other*  
  
than work. Things like going to see a movie, reading a  
  
book, going to dinner with friends-"  
  
"All my friends will be working, and you'll be  
  
vacationing in The Dairy State."  
  
"If you'd ever met any of my family you wouldn't call  
  
it 'vacationing'."  
  
"Then why do you want to go?" A valid question, even  
  
if he does sound a bit desperate.  
  
"I haven't been home since I joined the campaign. If I  
  
want to be included in the will I have to pay homage  
  
at the alter of the Family Moss." I shift in my chair  
  
nervously. This isn't a topic I want to discuss with  
  
him.  
  
He looks at me quizzically, a mischievous gleam in his  
  
eyes. "Your family isn't part of the mob, is it?"  
  
"You've seen The Godfather too many times."  
  
"You didn't answer my question, Donna," he chides, his  
  
tone playful.  
  
"Yes, Josh, my family is part of the infamous  
  
Wisconsin mob circuit. How ever did you guess?" I ask,  
  
my voice dripping with irony.  
  
"My psychiatrist thinks you use sarcasm as a defense  
  
mechanism."  
  
"Are you sure he was talking about me?"  
  
He gives me what could only be described as a rakish  
  
grin. "Well, you did learn from the best."  
  
"I won't even justify that with an answer."  
  
"That'll teach me."  
  
"Shut up or I call my Uncle Vito right now."  
  
"I always knew you were Italian, but CJ didn't believe  
  
me."  
  
"You know what's ridiculous, Josh?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"This conversation. I'm going to go home and make my  
  
plane reservations. See you in a week." I stand and  
  
walk out the door, when his voice calls me back.  
  
"Donna, wait!" Is it just my imagination, or is he  
  
being a bit clingy?  
  
"Yes, master?"  
  
"I like the sound of that." Do I even need to tell you  
  
that he's smirking?  
  
"Two words. Uncle. Vito."  
  
"What if I need to get in touch with you while you're  
  
away?"  
  
"See that big box-like thing on your desk?"  
  
"My laptop?" He seems confused. I wonder if he really  
  
can make it through a week without me.  
  
"Yes. Ask Sam to show you how to work the e-mail."  
  
"Donna-" I'm getting sick of hearing him whine. I'm  
  
not looking forward to spending a week with my family,  
  
much less a week without Josh.  
  
Where did that thought come from?  
  
"If there's an emergency you can e-mail me."  
  
"Can you at least give me a phone number?"  
  
"I can't spend all week talking to you long-distance.  
  
My family hates you enough as it is." Oops. Hadn't  
  
meant to say that.  
  
"Your family hates me?" He seems shocked at the very  
  
idea.  
  
When in doubt, change the subject. "I've rescheduled  
  
all your important appointments, but you should still  
  
check in with Sam before you leave tonight. Brief him  
  
on Tuesday's budget meeting-"  
  
"Why would your family hate me?"  
  
"Would you like that list in chronological or  
  
alphabetical order?"  
  
"You don't have it on index cards? You're falling down  
  
on the job here, Donna."  
  
"Good bye, Joshua."  
  
"What if there's a war or something?"  
  
"E-mail me." With that I make my exit to his continued  
  
protests. I pop my head in CJ's office before I leave.  
  
  
  
"How much of that did you hear?" I ask apologetically.  
  
She looks up and laughs at my expression. "I caught  
  
the majority of it. He seems more upset about you  
  
leaving town than about his forced hiatus."  
  
"He's just worried that he won't have anyone to yell  
  
at for a week."  
  
CJ looks thoughtful. "When was the last time you spent  
  
more than a few days away from him?"  
  
That surprises me. I think for a few moments. "I  
  
fuzzily recall a week off last winter."  
  
"Before the shooting." She gives me a significant look  
  
I don't completely understand.  
  
"Yeah. Why?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Okay. I'll see you when I get back."  
  
"Have a good time." I turn to leave. "Oh, and Donna?"  
  
"Yup?"  
  
"Don't let Josh ruin this for you. It'll be good for  
  
you to get away from him for a while." I look at her  
  
curiously and nod. What on earth did she mean by that?  
  
Why would I need to get away from Josh?  
  
Come to think of it, the question should be why  
  
*wouldn't* I need to get away from Josh. He's  
  
demanding, rude, and incredibly annoying, not to  
  
mention arrogant and stubborn. He expects me to work  
  
outrageous hours, and then pays me a pittance. And  
  
have I ever heard so much as a 'thank you'? No,  
  
because that would be too much to ask from that  
  
superior, self-involved little bastard. That  
  
obnoxious, odious snob.  
  
I'm really going to miss him. 


	2. Chapter 2

*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Sat Feb 10, 2001 4:00 PM  
  
Subject: EMERGENCY!  
  
I thought you were kidding when you said the Secret  
  
Service wouldn't let me in the building. I went in  
  
this morning (just to pick up some files, not to work,  
  
you harpy) but they denied me access. Are you and Leo  
  
in cahoots?  
  
I resent your implications of last night that I can't  
  
enjoy myself in my free time. I enjoy myself plenty.  
  
In fact, today I sat on my couch and watched  
  
television. All day. I was the epitome of relaxation.  
  
Until I turned the channel to CNN, that is. I told  
  
them that Nelson's interview was going to be a thing,  
  
but did anyone listen? Oh no. I called CJ to gloat,  
  
but she hung up on me. I think they gave us that  
  
vacation just to get rid of me.  
  
So, how was your flight? Everything okay? How's Uncle  
  
Vito?  
  
Josh  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Sat Feb 10, 2001 4:16 PM  
  
Subject: Re: EMERGENCY!  
  
I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but apparently I  
  
need to control your ego even during my vacation. As I  
  
remember it, *you* were the one who insisted that  
  
Nelson's interview wasn't a big deal. CJ told you it  
  
would be thing. I guess it's good that she's there and  
  
you're at home.  
  
As for Leo and I being in cahoots, I can only tell you  
  
that he is a very trusty ally. It helps to know people  
  
in power. grin  
  
Anyway, I'm glad someone's enjoying themselves. I've  
  
been home for two hours and already I'm huddled in the  
  
linen closet with my laptop, hoping no one will hear  
  
me typing. Ah, the joys of family. My flight was fine.  
  
Not as comfortable as Air Force One, granted, but not  
  
too bad for coach. Maybe if a certain someone paid me  
  
more I could afford First Class, or at least extra  
  
peanuts.  
  
Uncle Vito sends his love.  
  
Donna  
  
Postscript: You must have been so distracted by your  
  
'EMERGENCY' that you forgot to mention what it was  
  
exactly.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Sat Feb 10 5:48 PM  
  
Subject: Huddling?  
  
Why on earth are you huddling in the linen closet? I  
  
understand that family can be frightening, but what's  
  
so dreadful that it necessitates burying yourself  
  
among old sheets and bath towels?  
  
Come to think of it, you said last night that your  
  
family hates me, something I simply cannot fathom. Are  
  
they giving you grief about your job and my splendid  
  
self? I can have the President send them a letter if  
  
you want. You know, just a little something to let  
  
them know that their daughter works for the most  
  
powerful man in the free world. Not only that, but she  
  
works for the President of the United States as well.  
  
Heh heh.  
  
Seriously, what's up?  
  
Josh  
  
P.S. What emergency? I didn't say anything about an  
  
emergency.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Sat Feb 10 5:54 PM  
  
Subject: Huddling? Did I say huddling?  
  
You know how sometimes I get stuck on a subject and  
  
just won't let it go? How I bring it up every few  
  
minutes, eventually driving people to the brink of  
  
insanity? (Yo Yo Ma Rules!)  
  
Well, take that and multiply it by a hundred and you  
  
have my mother. It doesn't matter that I have a  
  
somewhat prestigious job and that I love every moment  
  
of it (wipe that smirk off your face, it has nothing  
  
to do with you) she considers it a waste because I  
  
haven't found the perfect husband yet. As far she's  
  
concerned, every second I squander at work would be  
  
better spent hunting for a wealthy husband (a doctor  
  
or a lawyer would be preferable, most definitely NOT a  
  
politician).  
  
Needless to say, the linen closet is a peaceful  
  
alternative. We're about to have dinner (which in this  
  
household is a formal affair) so I'd better run if I  
  
don't want to be stuck sitting next to my great aunt,  
  
who taught my mother everything she knows.  
  
Stop worrying and go out and have some fun. Call Sam  
  
and see if he wants to go out. No drinking, though. My  
  
roommate is under orders to call the police if you  
  
show up at our doorstep.  
  
Suffocating happily under a pile of old, pungent  
  
pillow covers,  
  
Donna 


	3. Chapter 3

*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Sun Feb 11, 2001 1:02 AM  
  
Subject: Hey  
  
I called your apartmnet, but you werent there. It took  
  
me a while to rember why. SAm told me youd kill him if  
  
I got drunk, I didnt think youd be that mad. Come  
  
home.  
  
Joshy  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Sun Feb 11, 2001 7:13 AM  
  
Subject: You didn't think I'd be that mad, eh?  
  
I leave you alone for one night, Joshua.  
  
ONE DAMN NIGHT! You are supposedly a responsible  
  
adult. I guess the fact that you even made it home  
  
this morning is a good sign. When you're sober enough  
  
to read this letter call Sam and tell him that his  
  
prediction of my punishment for him is surprisingly  
  
accurate. When I get back I'm goi  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Sun Feb 11, 2001 12:43 PM  
  
Subject: What?  
  
You're going to what? I have a sinking feeling that it  
  
won't involve a foot rub and scented oils. Or anything  
  
else involving pleasant sensations. All I ask is that  
  
you don't do anything that will leave permanent  
  
scaring. My fan club would never forgive you.  
  
As for what may or may not have happened last night, I  
  
blame everything on Sam.  
  
Speaking of Sam, he is currently in my apartment  
  
forming an argument to use on you when you come home,  
  
to, you know, convince you not to kill him. He's  
  
practicing on the mirror and everything. I tried to  
  
tell him that the mob has no mercy, but he just looked  
  
at me funny.  
  
Prepared to grovel,  
  
Josh  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Mon Feb 12, 2001 10:04 PM  
  
Subject: Hello?  
  
Is this some way of punishing me? You're refusing to  
  
communicate with me because I got drunk? As you said,  
  
Donna, I'm an adult. I can make decisions myself, and  
  
I don't need someone to baby-sit me and tell me what  
  
and what not to do!  
  
That said, I need you to e-mail me back and tell me  
  
which tie to wear with my gray suit. I might have a  
  
date tonight.  
  
E-mail me!  
  
Josh  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Mon Feb 12, 2001 4:13 PM  
  
Subject: Where the hell are you?  
  
What have I done to deserve this? I'm stranded in a  
  
city where half of the people hate me by reputation  
  
and everyone I know is working, the pizza guy won't  
  
deliver to my apartment, and worst of all, you, who as  
  
my trusty assistant and friend should be by my side at  
  
all times, are refusing to even e-mail me! How is a  
  
man supposed to operate under these conditions?  
  
What exactly did I say in my e-mail Saturday night? If  
  
it's anything of a...personal nature remember that I  
  
may have only had three beers, but just two render me  
  
incapable of coherent thought. You know how I get; I  
  
say stupid things I don't mean.  
  
E-mail me now!  
  
Josh  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Mon Feb 12, 2001 8:45 PM  
  
Subject: DONNA!  
  
Right now I'm supposed to be on a date with an  
  
attractive woman who is not a call girl (Sam  
  
introduced me to her, so you can see why that's an  
  
important fact), but until you give me some sign that  
  
you're still breathing I refuse to leave the computer.  
  
You're ruining my social life, Donna, so get your ass  
  
on the net right now.  
  
Josh  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Tue Feb 13, 2001 1:09 AM  
  
Subject: Donna?  
  
Okay, fine, I'm punished already! Just e-mail me to  
  
let me know that you're alright and I swear I'll leave  
  
you alone until you get back.  
  
I apologize for everything I have ever said or done  
  
that hurt or offended you in any way. Call or e-mail  
  
me now and I promise I will never do anything stupid  
  
ever again. Yeah, and pigs will fly.  
  
Please call me,  
  
Josh  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: jlyman@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Tue Feb 13, 2001 12:04 PM  
  
Subject: Where are you?  
  
Okay, I'm sick of being patient. If you don't contact  
  
me in some way within the next 24 hours I'm telling  
  
the FBI to go and search the entire damn state of  
  
Wisconsin. I'm serious, Donna. Call me or the Feds  
  
will be interviewing your mother by tomorrow  
  
afternoon.  
  
E-mail me, damn it!  
  
Josh  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: cjcregg@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Wed Feb 14, 2001 12: 35 PM  
  
Subject: He's driving us insane!  
  
Donna, *please* e-mail Josh before he has a heart  
  
attack. He stormed into the West Wing today, screaming  
  
something about the FBI and 'those damn dairy cows'.  
  
I'm sure he did something colossally idiotic, but for  
  
now let it go and tell him you're okay.  
  
So, how's the vacation so far?  
  
CJ  
  
*******************************************************  
  
To: dmoss@whitehouse.gov  
  
From: jbartlet@whitehouse.gov  
  
Date: Wed Feb 14, 2001 1:03 PM  
  
Subject: Enjoying your vacation?  
  
Donna,  
  
I just finished a very interesting conversation with  
  
your boss. He seems to think that something dire and  
  
tragic has happened to you because you refuse to speak  
  
to him during your vacation time. Although I can think  
  
of many other reasons why you would ignore him, I  
  
think it would be best if you called the office and  
  
let everyone know that you are, in fact, still among  
  
the living. I hope you're enjoying your time in what  
  
Josh insisted on calling 'the Dairy State', though  
  
California is actually the country's largest producer  
  
of dairy products. In fact, in 1997 California cows  
  
produced an average if 21,000 gallons of dairy  
  
products each, while Wisconsin cows only produced an  
  
average of 17,000 gallons. Though, of course, you  
  
probably already knew that.  
  
Jed Bartlet  
  
Postscript: Don't worry about Josh. We can handle him  
  
until you get back, though I must admit my respect for  
  
you increases by the minute. And people say *I'm*  
  
difficult to deal with.  
  
******************************************************* 


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: Donna's family is loosely based on my own, so  
  
let me just say that all this is possible. And  
  
frightening. Don't forget frightening. And no, they're  
  
not Mormon. Just insane.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
I'm beginning to remember why I was in such a hurry to  
  
leave Wisconsin in the first place. My history with  
  
the state isn't exactly exemplary.  
  
I lived in the same house for eighteen years with the  
  
same six people. I went to college to gain  
  
independence, and ended up dependant on a clone of my  
  
father. I finally left Dr. Free Ride and ran away to  
  
New Hampshire, only to find that once you achieve your  
  
independence all you want is to reconnect with the  
  
parasitical force that drove you away in the first  
  
place: your family.  
  
Now, you probably assume that I was just a rebellious  
  
teenager who imagined her loving family was smothering  
  
her. Everyone thinks their family's crazy, right?  
  
Let me tell you a bit about the Moss Clan. My house  
  
includes six regular occupants (my extended family  
  
visits often): My grandmother Enid, my parents Ulysses  
  
and Edith, my older sisters Godelieve and Abidemi, and  
  
my twin brother Oswald.  
  
The names alone should be a clue that this is not your  
  
average, 'Leave It to Beaver' household. And these  
  
names are not a cultural thing like they are with most  
  
families. My great-grandfather Arthur (who was a  
  
little eccentric) began the tradition of picking baby  
  
names randomly out of the ancient books we keep in the  
  
family library. Had I been a boy my name would have  
  
been Ishmael.  
  
This is only the tip of the insanity ice burg. I could  
  
go on for hours about the innumerable oddities I  
  
suffered as a child, but I'll save it for my  
  
autobiography.  
  
The point of all this is, as strange as my family is,  
  
I'm too weird for them. I'm the Black Sheep. The fact  
  
that I'm in my mid-twenties and not married yet is  
  
inconceivable. Hell, I should have produced three  
  
grandchildren by now! I can't tell you the number of  
  
times I've heard the phrase 'Why can't you be more  
  
like your sisters?'  
  
At the moment both of my perfect female siblings are  
  
sitting in the living room each nursing a baby. They  
  
live in perfect houses not half a block away from  
  
where they're sitting now. Abi's on her first husband  
  
and second child, while Eve is on her third husband  
  
and fourth child. It doesn't matter how many times you  
  
get married, just as long as all your husbands are  
  
wealthy and you generate lots of grandchildren.  
  
I'm grinding my teeth just watching them.  
  
"Donnatella, stop that unpleasant noise." My mother  
  
chides primly. She refuses to use anyone's nickname,  
  
something that drives even my siblings insane.  
  
"I could take myself and my offending noise elsewhere  
  
if you'd let me have my computer back," I say slowly,  
  
carefully controlling my voice.  
  
"Nonsense. You didn't come home to do more work for  
  
that horrendous president of yours." I'm going to  
  
scream. I'm going to scream.  
  
"She doesn't work for the president, Mother. She works  
  
for one of his lackeys," Eve intones disdainfully.  
  
Who you calling a lackey, you cow? Oh God. I'm  
  
hearing Josh's voice in my head. This can't be good.  
  
"He's not a lackey, Eve. He's the Deputy Chief of  
  
Staff," I say even though I know it's pointless. They  
  
could care less.  
  
You tell 'em, Donna. You defend my honor. He's  
  
annoying even when he's a disembodied voice. Just  
  
wonderful.  
  
"I do not want that man to be discussed in my house.  
  
Do you understand me, Donnatella?"  
  
That man? She won't even say my name? What'd I do to  
  
her? You're withholding her grandchildren, you  
  
nitwit.  
  
"Yes, mother," I say like the good little subservient  
  
daughter I am. After a few moments of familial silence  
  
I try again.  
  
"I only want the computer so I can e-mail my  
  
boyfriend. He's probably worried." That got their  
  
attention real quick.  
  
My mother gives me the eye. She doesn't quite believe  
  
me. "Your boyfriend? You didn't mention a boyfriend."  
  
BOYFRIEND! What boyfriend? I would know if there was  
  
a boyfriend! Shut up and let me do this.  
  
"I didn't? I must have forgotten to tell you." Three  
  
years with politicians has taught me a lot about  
  
lying.  
  
"Are his intentions honorable?" I hear Josh laughing  
  
faintly in the background. He caught on and finds this  
  
very entertaining. Mental Josh. Not real. I have to  
  
keep telling myself that.  
  
"Of course. We're just taking it slow," I say, giving  
  
Abi a significant look. She knew her husband for a  
  
week before she dropped out of college and married  
  
him. See? I was genetically engineered into the whole  
  
Dr. Free Ride mess.  
  
Abi snorts. "He's probably one of those filthy  
  
politicians." Grrr.  
  
Are you sure you're not adopted? I ask myself that  
  
everyday.  
  
"However did you guess?" I smirk and return to my  
  
book. Take that, genes.  
  
"Why hasn't he called?"  
  
"I asked him to e-mail me instead. So we wouldn't  
  
disturb the house."  
  
"What's his name?"  
  
"Josh Lyman." Shit! Why did I just do that?  
  
WHAT!  
  
"What? Isn't he-" Eve starts, but my mother interrupts  
  
her.  
  
"Donnatella, is that not the name of your employer?"  
  
"Yes." I gulp.  
  
Mother looks like she's about to have an aneurysm.  
  
"Why-"  
  
The phone rings, an unusual sound in our house. My  
  
mother shuts her mouth abruptly and her shade of  
  
purple fades to a dark pink. "Godelieve, would you  
  
answer that please?" Eve hands her baby to Abi and  
  
walks into the kitchen.  
  
I hear Mental Josh's faint MOO as she walks away.  
  
Why the hell did I do that? 


	5. Chapter 5

****************  
  
"The Moss residence. How may I help you?" I hear Eve  
  
say formally into the telephone. Abi, Mother, and I  
  
listen closely while pretending not to.  
  
"I'm sorry, who?" She sounds surprised.  
  
After a pause she says, "Oh, you must mean Donnatella.  
  
Yes, she's here. May I ask who's calling?" Huh? I  
  
didn't give anyone my number here.  
  
"Oh. Really." Her voice is so cold I can see my breath  
  
in the air. "Well, she can't come to the phone right  
  
now."  
  
I jump up and run into the kitchen. "Thank you for  
  
screening my calls, Eve, but I think I can handle it  
  
from here." I practically wrestle the phone from her  
  
grip and speak into the receiver.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Donna. Thank God. I thought you were dead."  
  
"Josh!" I say happily, not realizing my mistake until  
  
I hear my mother come up behind me. I don't so much  
  
hear her as feel the waves of disapproval flowing from  
  
her small frame. Shit. This is not going to be good.  
  
"Umm...this really isn't a good time."  
  
"NOT A GOOD TIME? I've sent you twenty e-mails in the  
  
past five days! Do you have any idea how many that is  
  
a day?"  
  
"Um, four?"  
  
"Where the hell have you been?"  
  
"Here. My computer was confiscated."  
  
"Confiscated? Are you in prison?"  
  
"It only seems that way." I turn to my mother. "Could  
  
I have a few minutes, please?"  
  
"You're dating a politician," she accuses.  
  
"Yes," I lie, desperately wanting to speak to Josh  
  
alone before my mother seizes the telephone.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I'm in love with him," I answer without thought. She  
  
gives me a strange look and walks back into the living  
  
room, shutting the kitchen door behind her. What just  
  
happened?  
  
"Josh? You still there?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah." He suddenly sounds unusually quiet and  
  
distracted. Must be the long distance connection.  
  
"How'd you get this number?"  
  
"Oh, I looked in your FBI file." WHAT?  
  
"I have a *FBI* file?"  
  
"Yeah. Nothing very incriminating, though. I forgot I  
  
even had it."  
  
"Why do you have my FBI file?" Why isn't he gloating  
  
over this?  
  
"Actually, Leo had it. He gave it to me so I wouldn't  
  
call in the National Guard to find you."  
  
I smile at that. "You wanted to call in the National  
  
Guard?"  
  
"I would have settled for the FBI. You really didn't  
  
get any of my e-mails?  
  
"No, I got caught hiding in the closet while I was  
  
yelling at you about your drunkenness."  
  
"Were you actually yelling aloud?"  
  
"Yeah, that might have been what gave me away."  
  
"Stealth was never a big thing for you." Now he sounds  
  
a bit better, but there's still something strange in  
  
his voice.  
  
"Are you okay? You sound weird."  
  
"No, no. I'm fine. How's the family?"  
  
"At this point I wish I really had an Uncle Vito."  
  
I can almost see him nod in understanding. "Who  
  
answered the phone?"  
  
"My sister Godelieve."  
  
"Godelieve?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"That's just frightening."  
  
"Tell me about it." I pause, wondering if I should  
  
tell him about my little Freudian slip earlier. "I  
  
have a confession to make."  
  
"Yeah?" How am I supposed to tell him this?  
  
"My parents are republican." Damn. I chickened out.  
  
"WHAT? WHAT?"  
  
"See, and I was afraid you make a big deal out of  
  
this."  
  
"How-you...how could you-" he continues to stutter  
  
while I talk over him.  
  
"Actually, only my father's republican. My mother  
  
hates all politicians."  
  
Suddenly his sputters of indignation cease. "Oh."  
  
"What is with you?"  
  
"Nothing. I just need to go back to work."  
  
"Just two more days and then you can resume your role  
  
of slave driver."  
  
"Yeah. When do you get back?" He's really creeping me  
  
out with this quiet thing.  
  
"Tomorrow night."  
  
"Do you have a ride?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Do you have a ride back from the airport?"  
  
"No. I was just going to take a taxi. Why?"  
  
"I was just wondering if someone was...you  
  
know...taking care of..." I don't think I have ever  
  
heard Joshua Lyman being uncomfortable.  
  
"Are you offering to pick me up?"  
  
"Do you want me to?"  
  
"Josh-"  
  
"Yes, I'm offering to pick you up."  
  
"That would be wonderful. Flight 345 on TWA. Okay?"  
  
"Yeah. Great. See you then." And with that he hangs  
  
up.  
  
See what happens? I come back to this house for one  
  
damn week and the insanity spreads to the rest of my  
  
life like a damn disease.  
  
ARGH! 


	6. Chapter 6

******************  
  
I forgot how peaceful my house can be at times. My  
  
sisters and their children have gone to their  
  
respective houses and my father has shut himself away  
  
in his study, so it's just my brother Oz, my mother,  
  
and I in the living room.  
  
"So I hear you got a phone call today."  
  
I look up from my book to give Oz a vicious glare. He  
  
is the only one who understands why I do what I do.  
  
That doesn't mean he's not above giving me grief about  
  
it.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"From a man in DC."  
  
"Drop it, Oz."  
  
"Your boyfriend in DC." He's pissed that I didn't tell  
  
him about it. I can hardly blame him. If it had been  
  
true I would've told him the moment I got home.  
  
"Are you going somewhere with this?"  
  
"No, I just want to torture you."  
  
"Why does that not surprise me?"  
  
"Oswald, Donnatella, be quiet," my mother orders, but  
  
her usual mix of annoyance and superiority is absent.  
  
She's been like this since Josh called. I wonder  
  
what's up.  
  
"Yes, Donnatella, stop your childish prattle," Oz says  
  
in a dead-on imitation of our great-aunt Elizabeth. I  
  
laugh quietly and accept his subtle apology.  
  
"Oswald, I wish to speak to your sister alone." He  
  
nods and sends me a comforting look as he leaves. We  
  
both know what's coming.  
  
I'm about to be decapitated. The same thing happened  
  
when I left Dr. Free Ride. She screamed and yelled and  
  
guilted until I fled the house in tears. And- well,  
  
you know what happened after that.  
  
"So, you're in love with a politician."  
  
"Yes." To my surprise I realize that I'm not lying.  
  
Well, hello Mr. Epiphany. How nice of you to come and  
  
join us.  
  
"This Josh Lyman person."  
  
"Yes." Wow. It just gets easier every time I say it.  
  
"Good," she says curtly and goes back to her reading.  
  
What? Huh? But...she...how?  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I said good. And close your mouth, you look like a  
  
cow."  
  
"Good? That's it? No screaming? No guillotine?"  
  
"No, though I could roll it out of the pantry if you  
  
want it so badly." My mother is making jokes? What the  
  
hell is going on here?  
  
"Mother-"  
  
"You know my opinion of politicians, Donnatella, but  
  
that doesn't change the fact that you've finally found  
  
the man you wanted. Neither of your sisters have found  
  
that yet. I'm glad you have," she says, as if this  
  
something I should already know.  
  
"But you hate Josh!"  
  
"I hate that job of yours, but Mr. Lyman seems to be  
  
reasonably respectable. I'll have to meet him, of  
  
course." I take this as an empty threat, as neither of  
  
my parents have left the state of Wisconsin in ten  
  
years.  
  
"But-"  
  
"And since you seem to be so ignorant to my attitude  
  
towards your life, I'll tell you that despite my  
  
dislike for anything political, I'm extremely proud of  
  
you and the work that you do everyday."  
  
I sit there speechless. Literally without speech. All  
  
speech ability gone. Sans speech.  
  
Mother stands and lays her book down on the coffee  
  
table. "I am going to retire now, as should you if  
  
you're going to pack to tomorrow. You know your  
  
tendency to leave things like that until the last  
  
minute. Good night, Donnatella."  
  
I finally manage to croak out a, "Good night, Mother"  
  
but she has already left the room.  
  
Wow. That was weird.  
  
"Hey! You're still here!" Oz pokes his head in the  
  
door and gives me a grin. I return it, if a bit  
  
dazedly.  
  
"Yeah. Surprise surprise."  
  
"You still have your head and everything."  
  
He flops down on a nearby couch with the ease of  
  
someone who belongs. The only place I've ever felt  
  
that is the Operations bullpen. Josh's office, to be  
  
exact.  
  
"No thanks to you, you traitor."  
  
"I'm sorry about that," he apologizes guiltily. He  
  
could compete with Josh on the puppy dog look.  
  
"You're forgiven. You want to know why I didn't tell  
  
you?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because it's not true."  
  
"You're not dating your boss?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then why'd you come up with such a crappy lie?"  
  
"I don't know. His name was the first one that came to  
  
mind."  
  
"Because you have a thing for him."  
  
I look at him in surprise. "Yeah. How'd you know?"  
  
"I called you after he was shot, remember?" he asks  
  
seriously, eyes filled with concern.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Are you going to do something about it?"  
  
"It's so complicated, Oz. He's my boss and-"  
  
"Since when do you shirk from complicated  
  
relationships?"  
  
"Shirk?"  
  
"It's a word."  
  
"I know. Just not one I've ever heard used in a  
  
sentence before."  
  
"Stop trying to change the subject. What are you going  
  
to do about Lyman?"  
  
"Nothing, Oz. Absolutely nothing." 


	7. Chapter 7

*****************  
  
When I wake up in my old room the next morning I'm  
  
flooded with a sense of vertigo. Memories of my  
  
childhood rush through my mind, and suddenly I can  
  
remember all the good times I've had in this house.  
  
As I roll out of bed I notice that my bureau has been  
  
organized and that my laptop is sitting on my dresser.  
  
The closest thing to an apology I'm ever likely to get  
  
from my mother.  
  
After I dress and pack my suitcase I decide that now  
  
is as good a time as any to check my e-mail. I turn on  
  
my computer and curiously open my inbox.  
  
Twenty-six messages in all. Pretty impressive, I must  
  
say. I skim down the list to see who they're from.  
  
Twenty-two are from Josh, with one each from CJ, Sam,  
  
Margaret, and the president.  
  
The last e-mail address registers in my mind. The  
  
President of the United States e-mailed me because my  
  
mother stole my laptop.  
  
Must. Kill. Josh.  
  
With trembling hands I open the letter. It's just what  
  
I would expect from him, friendly and polite almost to  
  
the point of irony. His postscript cools my  
  
embarrassment, and I am now content to simply maim  
  
Josh for blowing all this out of proportion.  
  
Sam's letter is hilarious; he alternates between  
  
begging me to spare his life and hinting that Josh is  
  
losing his mind without me.  
  
Margaret and CJ don't bother to hint. They tell me  
  
flat out that he's being unbearable. I can't say I'm  
  
really surprised. After all, I deal with Josh in his  
  
undiluted state everyday. Maybe now that they see what  
  
he is like without me I'll finally get my raise.  
  
Eventually I make my way to Josh's e-mails. I expect  
  
them to be his usual mix of obnoxious charm and  
  
sarcasm, but what I find is, well, something else. I  
  
didn't really believe everyone's descriptions of  
  
Josh's concern, but in his words I can hear him  
  
arguing with CJ and Sam, nearly frantic with worry.  
  
And I realize for the first time just how important I  
  
am to him.  
  
In the past twenty-four hours I've come to terms with  
  
the fact that I may very well be in love with Josh.  
  
I've also been making a list of all the reasons why  
  
being in love with him is a bad thing. I won't go into  
  
all of them at the moment, but number one is all I  
  
need to convince me that this won't work.  
  
Number One: Joshua Lyman is not, and never will be, in  
  
love with me.  
  
He cares for me, the past week's events prove that  
  
without a doubt. He may even love me in a friendly,  
  
brotherly sort of way. But anything beyond that is  
  
impossible.  
  
I can't let a little thing like this get my hopes up.  
  
I lean back in my chair and fiddle with a small piece  
  
of paper while I contemplate my arrival in DC. The  
  
fact that Josh is picking me up complicates things a  
  
bit. Oh well, it can't be helped.  
  
I really did miss him. I sigh and turn to stare at the  
  
old tree that stands outside my bedroom window. I take  
  
a deep breath and absorb every memory of my room, so-  
  
Wait a minute. Isn't there supposed to be a tree out  
  
there? I look closer and I realize that I can't see  
  
anything out my window. What the hell?  
  
Damn. Wisconsin in February. I am such a dumb ass. 


	8. Chapter 8

***********  
  
"Hello?" I hear someone groan. Actually, groan is a  
  
generous term. Whimper is more accurate.  
  
"Sam? What the hell are you doing asleep in Josh's  
  
office on a Saturday afternoon?"  
  
"Donna?" he squeaks. I just made a grown man squeak.  
  
This day just keeps getting better and better.  
  
"Yes. Is Josh there?"  
  
"No. I haven't seen him since yesterday. Your mother  
  
stole your laptop?"  
  
"Watch it, buster. You're still on my hit list."  
  
"I didn't realize he'd had so many! I swear-"  
  
"Sam, why are you in Josh's office?"  
  
"I was-"  
  
"Hiding from Toby?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Kathy, then."  
  
"I'm just trying to work in peace! What's so wrong  
  
with that?"  
  
"Well, since you're there, you can do me a favor."  
  
"Do you want me to pick you up from the airport  
  
tonight?" Big Brother Sam comes to the rescue. I  
  
almost hate to punish him when he's being so sweet.  
  
Almost.  
  
"Thanks, but Josh said he would."  
  
"Really? He did?"  
  
"Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised?"  
  
"It's just...nothing." he says quickly, as if he just  
  
remembered that he's not supposed to say something.  
  
"Just what, Sam?"  
  
"He has this thing about picking people up from the  
  
airport. A rule, really."  
  
"What's the rule?"  
  
"He doesn't do it." Oh.  
  
"Oh." Not thinking about it. Not thinking about it.  
  
Picturing little bits of hope being ground into the  
  
dirt by a large Josh foot.  
  
"Yeah." He sounds thoughtful. "What's the favor?"  
  
"Turn Josh's TV to the weather channel."  
  
"Okay." I hear him fumble and curse a bit until he  
  
finds the remote. "Yup?"  
  
"Look at the screen very carefully."  
  
Wait for it...wait for it...  
  
"Donna, where'd Wisconsin go?" Now he's definitely  
  
whimpering.  
  
"Oh, it's still there, Sam. It's just hidden under all  
  
that white cloudy stuff." I wait for a few moments  
  
before what I'm asking him to do dawns on him.  
  
"No way."  
  
"You owe me. This is your penance."  
  
"Can't I just cut off one of my hands with a meat  
  
cleaver instead?"  
  
"How would you type with only one hand?" This is way  
  
too much fun.  
  
"He's going to yell, Donna. A lot."  
  
"You can handle him," I say calmly.  
  
"You know perfectly well that you and Leo are the only  
  
people on earth who can handle him. And sometimes Leo  
  
needs your help. Why can't you tell him?"  
  
Because then it wouldn't be a punishment, now would  
  
it?  
  
"Because he won't listen to me. You're his best  
  
friend. You can handle him."  
  
"He's going to want to come after you."  
  
"Keep him there."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Tie him to a chair or something until Monday. Once he  
  
starts work he'll forget I even exist." Sigh.  
  
"No, he'll be even worse. You got stuck in this  
  
blizzard just to punish me!"  
  
"No, but you know the old saying. Life gives you  
  
lemons-" I can't keep the laughter out of my voice any  
  
longer.  
  
"Shut up!" he snaps, which only makes me laugh harder.  
  
  
  
"You'd better not be trying to steal my reputation of  
  
being the rude one, Sam. It takes years to cultivate a  
  
rep like that." I hear a voice say in the background.  
  
A very familiar voice.  
  
Sam yips in surprise and says hurriedly, "I'm not  
  
talking to anyone important."  
  
"Gee, thanks Sam." I quip, realizing that he doesn't  
  
know I can hear his conversation with Josh. Apparently  
  
no one ever taught Sam the little trick of covering  
  
the receiver before you speak.  
  
Oh. Dear. God.  
  
My mind works in very strange ways. It often takes me  
  
a long time to catch on to little things that would be  
  
obvious to other people. Then suddenly all the pieces  
  
come together with a snap and I can see the whole  
  
picture.  
  
I replay yesterday's phone conversation with Josh in  
  
my mind.  
  
Me: My computer was confiscated.  
  
Josh: Confiscated? Are you in prison?  
  
Me: It only seems that way. (I then turned to my  
  
mother, *leaving my damn hand off the damn receiver*)  
  
Could I have a few minutes, please?  
  
Mother: You're dating a politician.  
  
Me: Yes.  
  
Mother: Why?  
  
Me: I'm in love with him.  
  
Josh sounded very strange on the telephone afterwards.  
  
He wanted to know if someone was picking me up from  
  
the airport.  
  
Josh thinks I'm dating a politician.  
  
Worse, Josh thinks I'm in love with a politician.  
  
How can I use this to my advantage? 


	9. Chapter 9

********  
  
I'm still pondering the situation when I hear Josh  
  
say, "Then who are you talking to?"  
  
There's something you should know about Sam Seaborn:  
  
The man cannot lie under pressure. "Nobody."  
  
"Sam, tell him you're on hold."  
  
"I'm on hold," he says proudly, and once again I save  
  
a man's life with my deft tongue and quick wit.  
  
Ego? What ego? I don't see any ego.  
  
"With who?" What's with the persistence, huh?  
  
"A person you don't know," he says defensively.  
  
"Just hang up. I'll talk to you later. Oh, and Sam,  
  
have fun," I add with malicious glee.  
  
"No!" Sam yelps, making me jump.  
  
"What is wrong with you?" Josh asks, and I hear him  
  
grab the phone from Sam's hand.  
  
Uh oh. We're about to get busted. Not that we did  
  
anything wrong.  
  
"Josh!" Sam has really got to get over this yelping  
  
thing.  
  
"It's my phone, Sam. Who is this?" He sounds more  
  
amused than irritated. I have a feeling that's about  
  
to change. I could just hang up, but that would be  
  
silly. Childish, even. So I was talking to Sam.  
  
Big whoop.  
  
"Hello, Joshua."  
  
"DONNA?" I wince and pull the phone away from my ear.  
  
Ouch.  
  
"How's the weather down in DC?"  
  
"You were talking to Sam!" Sam must have run away a  
  
long time ago. Chicken.  
  
"I talk to people all the time, Josh. Sometimes I even  
  
talk to people who aren't you." Burn, baby, burn.  
  
"You were talking to *Sam* in my office!"  
  
If I had any sense whatsoever, right now I would  
  
calmly explain that I had called his office and Sam  
  
had picked up the phone. Simple as that.  
  
But what right does he have to be upset about this?  
  
Forget right, what *reason* does he have to be upset  
  
about this? I talk to Sam all the time at work and he  
  
doesn't bat an eye; now all of a sudden it's an issue?  
  
"I don't see your point," I say coolly. This is none  
  
of his business, and I fully intend to tell him so.  
  
"Why didn't he say it was you on the phone in the  
  
first place? Why'd he lie?"  
  
"Maybe he didn't want you to interrupt our  
  
conversation." I regret the words the second they come  
  
out of my mouth, but there's nothing I can do.  
  
"Oh. Well, so sorry to butt in like that. Perhaps you  
  
two could continue your simulating conversation if he  
  
picked you up from the airport tonight," he says  
  
stiffly, his voice icier than the snow outside my  
  
window.  
  
"That won't be necessary. Take a look at your  
  
television, Josh. I'm not flying anywhere."  
  
"I guess I'll call the temp agency for help on  
  
Monday," he says coldly, and hangs up.  
  
He hung up on me! Incredible. What the hell did I do  
  
to offend him? Sam and I are friends; Josh knows that.  
  
Why on earth-  
  
As I hear the pieces snap into place, I realize two  
  
very important things.  
  
One: Josh is an idiot.  
  
Two: Sam is a politician. 


End file.
